


On Top Of The World

by fredesrojo



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredesrojo/pseuds/fredesrojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-They’ll get it back. They’re doing the news again, and that’s all that matters.-</p>
<p>Short-ish treatise on Will McAvoy's semi-unfortunate late night infomercial shopping addiction and how Sundays off are meant to be spent, newsparents style. Post-S2 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Top Of The World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplyprologue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/gifts).



> For Emily, because...well I actually don't remember why this particular fic was asked for, perhaps to combat the daunting angst of writing Loose Ends.
> 
> Regardless, it's Emily's fault.

_I’m on top of the world, ‘ay_

_Waiting on this for a while now_

_Paying my dues to the dirt_

* * *

 

It feels _good_ to have Mac sprawled out in bed with him again.

Warm, smooth skin and gentle curves draped against his side, her head resting just above his heart. 

Will traces his fingers up and down her spine, shifting down to rest his chin against the top of her head. 

“N’mre.” Mac stirs against his chest, muttering indistinctly. After a moment, she shifts her head enough to peer up at him, one eye cracked open. “I can’t.” 

He grins, kisses her forehead. “Morning.” 

She groans indistinctly, lolling her head to the side. “Shut it, you.” 

“What? What did I do?” 

Mac moans and shifts away from his body, sprawling out ungracefully against the tangled sheets. He has to take a minute to remember to breathe because he never thought he would get her back in his arms, back in his bed and now she’s here and nude and unashamed, dark hair spread across his sheets and he gets to touch her and love her and fucking _marry_ her. 

She glares up at him weakly, utterly boneless in that beautifully sated way of hers. “I think you broke me. I can’t even think about moving,” She whines, lips jutting into a magnificent pout as she manages to lift one arm and poke his side. “You’re a big stupid lout and I swear to god I think my legs are like useless piles of jelly, ugh.” Mac shifts slightly to get more comfortable and drapes her arm across her eyes in dramatic fashion. “Just leave me here like...like a puddle of...a puddle of something… _ugh.”_  

“So...you liked it, then?” 

“Don’t get smart with me, McAvoy.” She lifts her arm slightly to squint at him suspiciously. “And no more, I mean it. I don’t think my heart could take it right now. You’ve officially proven your prowess, or…” She waves vaguely. “...Whatever.” 

Will grins and turns to loom over her, propped up on both elbows. He gently nudges her arm out of the way and dips in to tangle his lips with hers, enjoying the languid, happy feel of the kiss. After a minute, he pulls away. “Mmm. Hi.” 

Mac grins up at him, lips already swollen from their kisses. “Hi.” 

“It’s Sunday.” He points out. 

“I know.” 

Will dips to kiss her, lightning quick, and then rolls over to crawl out of bed. “We don’t have to work today.”

“Excellent, because I’m not planning on moving anytime soon.” She steals a fair amount of the covers and wraps herself up, frowning at Will as he steps into the discarded pair of boxers on the floor. “Billy, why are you putting pants on?” 

“Breakfast should always be cooked with pants on.” Will postulates seriously, hands on his hips. 

From her pile of covers, Mac giggles. “Well alright then. Make me...waffles. With strawberries. And whipped cream on top.” Her head pops up, dark eyes staring straight at him. “And that is _not_ an invitation to try and get whipped cream on my chest, before you even ask.” 

“Wouldn’t even consider it.” 

“Don’t give me that sly look, Billy.” Mac waves imperiously. “Go. Waffles, please.” She squints at the clock. “And coffee.” 

Will bows deeply at the waist, gesturing with one hand. “As you wish.” 

He goes to the kitchen and starts breakfast and then returns to the bedroom for a shirt because cooking waffles and bacon with bare skin anywhere near a stove-top is asking for horrible things to happen. Mac has graduated from laying mostly prone to sitting up against a mountain of pillows, and she’s stolen his button down from the night before. 

“Why are you putting more clothes on?” 

She raises an eyebrow as he tugs a t-shirt on, emerging with slightly wild looking hair. “Because your apartment is an icebox. Why are _you_ putting more clothes on?” 

He grins, sheepish. “I decided I wanted bacon, and cooking with grease near bare skin is asking for trouble.” Will kneels half on the bed and steals another kiss, grinning as Mac relaxes into it and pulls him down further against her body. 

When they finally part for breath, Mac nips his lower lip gently, words mumbled in the scant space between their faces. “I thought you were making me breakfast.” 

“You keep distracting me.” He manages one more quick brush of lips and pushes off the bed, throwing a sloppy salute on his way out the door. “Waffles and coffee, coming right up.” 

She’s got the TV in his bedroom tuned to ABC’s Sunday morning political talk show with George Stephanopoulos by the time he returns with a steaming mug of coffee for her, frowning at whatever set of talking heads they’ve brought on in the post election coverage. 

“Anything newsworthy?” 

She smirks. “Republicans are still bitching about the Democrats and vice versa.” 

“So no.” 

“Eh, give it a week. Then we’ll get talk on how the White House and Congress are gonna be deadlocked for another two years.” Mac sips at her coffee and changes the channel to CBS and Bob Schieffer, the frown between her eyebrows deepening. “Where’s my waffles?” 

“Do I look like I magically possess twelve arms to carry everything?” 

“You promised me waffles, yet you’ve been back twice witho--mmh.” Navigating onto the bed and taking her coffee without spilling it is a dangerous game, but he manages well enough and silences her protest with a languid kiss. 

She hums into the kiss, threading her hands through his hair. When she tries to pull him down farther, he resists. 

“You know, if you want those waffles, you’ve gotta let me out of bed.” 

“You climbed in here.” She raises her eyebrows. “ _Again._ ” 

Will grins. “Temporary lapse in judgement.” 

“Incorrigible man.” She shoves him towards the foot of the bed. “ _Go_. Waffles. Immediately. I’m absolutely starved.” 

“As you wish.” He ducks the thrown pillow and retrieves the rest of their breakfast, balancing some stupid tray thing he bought years ago in one of his late night insomnia infomercial watching stages back to the bed. 

Mac side-eyes his tray as he sets it on the bed, and he really shouldn’t be so righteously offended for an inanimate object but it’s a nice fucking tray, okay? “Waffles, your majesty.” 

“You have a breakfast tray.” 

“Mhm.” 

She squints at him. 

Will gets comfortable next to her, sections off a corner of Belgian waffle for himself, waits. 

Mac knocks his fork away from a pile of whipped cream and strawberries, drawing it closer to her edge of the plate. “Why do you have a very well designed breakfast tray, pray tell?” 

He steals a piece of bacon in retaliation. “What’s wrong with my breakfast tray?” He shrugs, lifts a forkful of waffle and bacon to his mouth. “It’s domesticated. I brought everything in on a nice tray and everything.” 

She chews a section of waffle, swallows, points with her fork. “Billy, you’re about as domesticated as a feral cat.” 

Will snatches her fork away and lunges around the tray, pinning her back against the bed with a growled laugh. “Hey!” 

“Will! You’ll spill the food!” 

“Spill-proof.” Just to be safe, he rolls them away from the tray and ends up on his back, dragging her to sprawl across his torso. 

Mac huffs and rests her chin against his chest. “You’re nothing but a big blonde caveman, you realize.” 

He nips at her nose, growling low in a gruff voice. “ _My_ Mackenzie.” She giggles and wriggles free from his grip, settling back next to the tray. Will stays on his back, tilts his head at her and attempts what he hopes are adequately pleading soulful eyes. “Bacon, please?” 

She scoffs and flings a strip at his face (which he definitely catches, okay), sectioning off another portion of waffle and fruit for herself. “So what are we going to do today, Billy?” 

When he looks her up and down, she glares. 

“Not _that_ , you oaf.” 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He rolls up onto his elbow and leans in to steal the next bite of waffle off of her fork, ignoring her squeak of outrage. 

Mac guards her next bite with a particularly fierce look and then says dryly, “Try later, perhaps when I don’t feel as if my legs are still on another plane not quite attached to my body.” She scoops up a bite of strawberries and cream and speaks without even looking at him. “And none of that smug look, McAvoy.” 

“Do you have to produce everything I do?” He questions seriously, battling her fork away for a lone strawberry straying towards his end of the plate. 

“You’d be absolutely hopeless without me, Mister Allegorical Proposal Story,” She says serenely as she steals half of his remaining bacon slice. “If I wasn’t in your ear or working alongside you at the office 90% of the time, you’d be back to kitten cams and that damned Twitter feed.” 

“I liked the Twitter feed.” (It was called a Twitter feed? He thought it was just tweets. Or twits. Twerks? Something.) 

“You liked reading about lollipop-lollipop on national television. _Really_.”

“Well, no, not that,” Will hedges, munching reflectively on the last piece of bacon. “But I liked seeing what people thought of the show in real time, sort of?” 

“Pandering to your invisible friends again.” Mac moans and flops backwards across his legs dramatically. “How many times do I have to tell you the numbers shouldn’t matter that much? Good god, man.” 

“I’m not pandering! I just…” 

She glares up at him from roughly around his shins. “You’re more worried about what a bunch of 140 character instant messages think about your show then the American electorate.” 

“No…” He tilts his head. "Okay, maybe a little. But not as much as I used to be, really!" 

“William Duncan McAvoy.” Mac lunges up from his shins, pretty much draping her body across his. She leans in close to his face, a fierce scowl wrinkling her nose cutely. “I am going to get you to stop worrying about the damn numbers if it kills me.” 

Will shifts to get them both a more comfortable position, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “You know, for all your talk of not wanting sex…” He glances pointedly to where she’s practically straddling his waist. 

_“Billy!”_ She thumps him soundly on the chest, trying to keep up her frown through a laugh. 

“Kidding! I was kidding, stop hitting me!” He finally clamps his arms down tight and pins her against his body, still chuckling. 

She grumbles briefly, settles with her head against his chest. “Where did you even find that tray?” 

“Um.” 

“Well, I mean, honestly--because I can’t imagine you setting foot in a housewares store.” She reaches out to tug it closer, running a nail over the lined tray and the well-designed handles. “It almost looks like something out of one of those SkyMall catalogues they put on planes. Or…” Mac stills against his chest, and here it comes. “Or something off of one of those ridiculous late night infomercials.” She turns her head to prop her chin on a forearm, staring him down. Her voice, when she speaks, is almost deceptively calm. “Billy, did you buy this tray watching late night television?”

“I, um.” Okay, so it wasn’t embarrassing at the time, but now when they’re laying in bed together and she’s watching him with those too-knowing eyes-- “Look, it’s a nice tray, okay.”

Mac looks a little sad for a moment, but then she brightens with a suspicious looking grin. “I bet you have a Snuggie, don’t you.” 

“...I do not!” His denial comes _way_ too late, and she’s definitely laughing at him now. He pouts until she gets herself under control, gentle fingers brushing stray hair off of his forehead. 

“You were lonely in your great big man-cave, so you bought things to fill it up.” Mac pushes forward and kisses the tip of his nose teasingly, grinning down at him. “It’s cute.” 

“I’m not cute!” Will sputters, deeply offended. “I’m the polar opposite of cute.” 

She merely grins and dips her head to tease him into a languid kiss, but he breaks away as something else that she’s said registers. “I don’t have a man-cave.”

“You have _four_ TV’s. That I’ve counted.” 

“Six, actually.” 

“Further proves my point.” 

“I work in the news, it’s normal for me to have a lot of TVs.”

“Face it, honey, this is a man-cave.” She waves her hand in midair. “Chrome and dark wood and marble countertops and an open floor plan. You’ve got your guitars set up all over the place and I doubt I’d find a magazine not pertaining to broadcast news or sports in here. Ergo, you have a man-cave.” 

“It’s not…” Yeah, okay, it kind of is. “It’s a nice apartment.” 

“It is a nice apartment.” (She’s definitely coddling him, a little bit.) Mac smirks a little, dips down to kiss him. “It really is a nice apartment. I’m teasing.” She grins. “You can stop acting so wounded, I know your pride can take a bigger hit than that.” 

“I’m not act--” He cuts himself off as the phone rings on the nightstand. “Wow. Really?” 

Mac pushes herself up his body enough to reach the buzzing device (which gives him a pleasant view down her shirt) and then draws back with a worried frown. “It’s Charlie.” 

“Give it here.” Will accepts the call and slides the phone on speaker, settling back comfortably as Mac resettles against his chest. “Hi, Charlie.” 

“There’s more news breaking on the Petraeus story. You two need to get in here.” 

“Shit. Really?” 

“Source says it’s not going to break yet, but we can start looking for double confirmation.” 

“Triple.” Mac mutters, chin resting atop her folded hands on his chest--he can already see the wheels turning in her head, shifting from home to work mode. “We need to really push building our credibility up for a while. I’m not putting anything on our air unless we’ve got at least three sources.” 

“We’ll be there in about an hour,” is all Will says, ending the call before Charlie can ramble on anymore. “Well, so much for a lazy Sunday.” 

She laughs. “As if we ever get very many of those to begin with.” 

“A guy can hope.”

“Hope later, news now.” 

“Such a nice sentiment.” Will unceremoniously topples her off of his body and jumps out of bed, dragging her across the sheets to sling her up over his shoulder on the way to the shower. “Look who sounds like a cavewoman now, huh?”

“Will! Put me down!” Mac’s laughing too hard to sound even partly serious, and he only re-adjusts his grip around her waist as he starts the shower. “You’ll fuck up your elbow!”

They’ll get it back. They’re doing the news again, and that’s all that matters.

* * *

 

_I’ve been waiting to smile, ‘ay_

_Been holding it in for a while, ‘ay_

_Take you with me if I can_

_Been dreaming of this since a child_

_I’m on top of the world._

_-_ Imagine Dragons, "On Top Of The World"

* * *

 


End file.
